


Coda

by Domenika Marzione (domarzione)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Sheppard does what he wants like always, lorne can't stay a major forever, the ending more likely than what the show provided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-03 06:48:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domarzione/pseuds/Domenika%20Marzione
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So what brings you back to Earth,” Lorne asks finally, since John is not here just to say hi. </p><p>“I’m retiring,” John says simply, patting his breast where the inside pocket of his jacket must hold his paperwork.</p><p>Lorne gives him a wry smile and a nod. This is not a shock or a surprise, although Lorne wasn’t convinced John would actually go through with it.</p><p>“You’re sure?” he asks, even though he knows the answer.</p><p>“They’re not keeping a chair warm for <i>me</i>,” John replies without even the vaguest hint of jealousy or resentment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coda

**Author's Note:**

> [Cast of Characters/the Big List of OCs (because there are more than seven people in Atlantis and they all have names)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/372765)

Lorne’s at that point where the odds of his getting a migraine are 50/50; two -- no, _three_ \-- hours spent talking in circles with Reissman, head of SG-12, and Louis-from-Anthropology, and Landry, who already knows what he has to do but wants Lorne to talk him out of doing it because it’s one of those missions where there is only limited upside and ten thousand ways it can go very wrong.

The meeting ends at an impasse, which technically counts as a victory for Lorne, but he has paid a heavy price for it if the dull throb at the back of his head is any indication. It’s 1645, which is normally late enough that he can go back to his office to grab his jacket and get the hell out of here, but there’s a schedule shift in place this week and SG-19’s not off-duty until 1930, which probably means an hour after that because SG-4’s on nights this week and Andy is a fucking fetishist when it comes to handover briefings.

With a vague wave to Walter, Lorne departs Landry’s suite and heads toward the stairwell because it is always ill-lit and rarely-used and the only noise will be his own rubber-soled boots on corrugated metal steps and he’s not really up to the elevator and its bright lights and loud sounds and inevitable unwanted human companionship just now.

His team is not around when he gets to their office, which is just as well because he’d probably boot them out if they were. That does not mean that there is no one around, but it’s a guest and Lorne’s not going to make him go away because he knows why he’s here.

“You look like shit run through the meat grinder,” John announces brightly as Lorne tosses his notepad on his desk.

John stopped being ‘sir’ as soon as Lorne swapped his gold oak leaf for a silver one, but after two years of equal footing, he’s not even ‘Sheppard’ anymore.

“Stop gloating,” Lorne tells him as he sits down heavily on the couch across from his desk. It forces John to turn the chair he’s sitting in, but Lorne’s too tired to be that kind of considerate right now.

John chuffs a quiet laugh. “I’m going to miss this part, too, a little.”

Lorne opens one eye to give half a disbelieving stare. “No, you won’t. Not even a little.”

That’s not true and Lorne knows it’s not true, but John doesn’t call him on it. “Mitchell still trying to get you to back his play for the air wing?” he asks instead.

Cam wants to put together a proposal for the SGC to reorganize how it manages its air resources. It’s not a bad idea -- the Mountain’s technically got zero aircraft permanently assigned to it and the carrier captains are notoriously loathe to let the SGC borrow any 302s for anything other than an imminent attack (and even then). But it’s going to require a lot of work and Lorne knows that Cam believes that Lorne is the best man, possibly the only man, who can negotiate the politics of it up to the point where the IOA has no choice but to at least listen. Landry and O’Neill have raw power, but Landry doesn’t have the time and O’Neill doesn’t have the finesse to handle this kind of stealth maneuver.

“Yeah,” he confirms, but then answer’s John’s actual question, “but this was Landry hoping I’d talk him out of authorizing a mission that’ll probably start a war with the Keloki.” He sighs. “I don’t know why he wanted _me_ to do it -- he historically doesn’t think much of my track record of keeping my COs from doing stupid shit.”

“Ha, ha,” John says with a smile. “We both know why he asked.”

Because the SGC wasn’t kidding when they said that they were bringing Lorne back from Atlantis to groom him for greater things. He may be one of the junior team commanders as far as time-in-grade goes, but few people at the Mountain actually remember that because it doesn’t reflect in his workload.

“I’ll feel flattered once the naproxen kicks in,” Lorne says, then remembers he hasn’t actually taken any. He points toward the bottle on his desk and John reaches over to get it, then tosses it to Lorne, who pops four into his mouth and swallows them dry. His stomach’ll hate him later, but right now, that’s a trade he’ll make.

“So what brings you back to Earth,” he asks finally, since John is not here just to say hi. Dave Radner is a superb XO, even if John bitches occasionally about the continued Marine-ification of Little Tripoli, but the Atlantis CO has no more time to social visits now than he did when Lorne was there.

“I’m retiring,” John says simply, patting his breast where the inside pocket of his jacket must hold his paperwork.

Lorne gives him a wry smile and a nod. This is not a shock or a surprise, although Lorne wasn’t convinced John would actually go through with it.

“You’re sure?” he asks, even though he knows the answer.

“They’re not keeping a chair warm for _me_ ,” John replies without even the vaguest hint of jealousy or resentment.

When they’d announced that John had maxed out his time as Atlantis CO, he’d asked to go back to Big Air Force so that he could get back into a rotor unit and finish out his career in a more traditional manner than he’d been living for most of the past decade. If he couldn’t stay in Atlantis, then he wanted to go fly helicopters on Earth.

The SGC had said no. They’d offered him a series of positions at the Mountain, including SG-1’s command on the assumption that Mitchell would eventually get his air wing and transition over to that billet. But the long and short of it was that they weren’t going to let him walk away from the Stargate Program and were counting on his history of sticking it out when things were looking professionally grim to keep him close.

But now John has called their bluff. If Landry or O’Neill had asked him about _that_ instead of about air wings and the Keloki, he’d have warned them that this would be a likely outcome.

“I’ve got my twenty in,” John says when Lorne doesn’t say anything out loud. “I’ve spent most of my career pulling down all kinds of crazy pay bumps, so my pension’s going to be better than most one-star's. I’ve got marketable skills -- in the right market.”

John had no aspirations to general officerdom; he wasn’t even that desperate for the bump up to full bird, although that probably would have come with a group command. Couple that with a career guided almost entirely by his sheer stubbornness and Lorne couldn’t figure out how O’Neill and Landry, two bright and insightful men, couldn’t have seen this coming.

“You put any feelers out yet?” Lorne asks, leaning over to reach for the water bottle lying on the far cushion of the couch. He didn’t notice it there earlier.

“A couple of guys I used to fly with have been working at Bell for the last however many years,” John answers with a shrug. “I’ve maybe got an offer as a test pilot if I want it.”

Lorne smiles because he translates this into John just having to hand over his completed [DD 214](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/DD_Form_214) to get hired.

“The marines are going to love that you’re going to be testing out their aircraft for them,” he says. Sikorsky makes the Air Force’s helos.

“It may take the sting out of them not getting one of their own as CO once I’m gone,” John allows.

“Any idea who it will be?” Lorne asks.

He has heard no scuttlebutt of value, although there’s been a fair bit of aspirational talk among the various SG team commanders ever since it was announced that Sheppard would be replaced. Dave hasn’t been either an O-4 or the Atlantis XO long enough to fleet up, although it would be unlikely for the post to go to a marine under any circumstances considering the inter-service pissing matches that have gone on over the years about the billeting in Pegasus.

“I kind of suspect they’re not going to ask me for my recommendation,” John answers wryly. “I hope it’s you, though.”

Lorne cocks an eyebrow because the thought has honestly never crossed his mind. “I think yanking me out of Atlantis was their pre-emptive answer to that.”

He’d say yes if asked, however. He’s enjoyed his time back on Earth immensely, far more than he thought he would, but after so many years in Atlantis, the chance to go back and in that capacity... but he doesn’t put much energy into hoping. He spoke the truth about his recall -- it would have been extremely easy to just keep Lorne in Pegasus until it was time and Higher had chosen not to. They’d instead chosen to bring him back and set him up at the SGC so that they could make sure he was turning out as they wanted him to. Their prize turnip, he sometimes felt. But it was a trade he’d willingly made; his ambitions, his reason for still being in the Air Force, are different than John’s. He’s always been willing to play the long game.

Which is why, six month later, it’s a very pole-axed Lorne who accepts the battalion colors in the change of command ceremony on the grassy field that has been incorporated into Little Tripoli.

“You do realize I know all of your tricks and will use them against you now, sir, right?” Dave asks during the reception.

“He’s a little craftier than I am,” John replies for him. “You’ll probably have to learn a few new ones.”


End file.
